


The Piano

by LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife



Series: A New Start [2]
Category: Belgravia (TV)
Genre: 1840s London, Class Differences, Classical Music, Friendship, Gen, Redemption, Servants, Serving Classes, Victorian Philanthropy, below stairs, upper class, victorian london
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27560275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife/pseuds/LastNightFanfictionSavedMyLife
Summary: A delivery, a revelation and Mr Turton gets 'one up' on the upper classes...-A plan to boost his meagre pension fund and to give him a comfortable life after retirement has all gone terribly wrong for charismatic butler Turton! He's been given the old 'heave ho', kicked out on his ear with only the most basic of references. What is he going to do next?The lone wolf that is Amos Turton has to start all over again. Learning how to fit into this new, weird household is tricky when you're used to following your own rules. Within the confines of the rigid Victorian class system of course. Well, mostly... He's keeping quiet, biding his time and thinking of the money and his pension pot!Victorian London is really not a kind place for the serving classes and definitely not a good place to be destitute and poor. Which he is in danger of becoming...-Set in the Belgravia - TV Series and Book verse. All this takes place after episode 6 - the finale of the TV series - and after the book has finished.It is the early 1840s.-Alright Bambinos, please read and enjoy!Kudos and Comments always greatly appreciated.
Series: A New Start [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2014321
Kudos: 2





	The Piano

Two jackets, two trousers, four shirts, all adjusted, were waiting for him outside his room when he woke the next morning. They were folded neatly on a chair that hadn't been there when he'd finally retired late last night. He went off to get some warm water to have a wash, then picked them up and brought them in. He examined the clothing.

The jackets were expertly done – the sleeves were not just shortened, but the buttons and the slit on the cuff were re-positioned and the sleeve lining was redone. Whoever did this so quickly must be exceedingly skilled and experienced.

He got dressed, checked himself in the mirror. _Much better._ He felt his old self now that he was properly back in the amour of his immaculately tailored uniform. He went into the kitchen for some breakfast. Mrs Brown was working away on kneading the day's bread.

"Ah, Mr Turton. Help yourself to breakfast over there,” she paused in her work to point a dough-covered finger over to a tray of food. “The missus said that she needs your help in the drawing room this morning. She's having a new piano delivered, so things need to be moved as soon as you're done here if you please."

So, he was to be a general dogsbody here as well? He frowned, disappointed at the prospect of that!

"Can't Mr Jones help instead?" _The general caretaker would be a better option, wouldn't he?_

"Afraid not, Mr Turton. He's away with Mrs Jones at the British Museum, keeping the children out of the way while all these goings on are, well, going on," she explained.

At least he'd not be a nanny today then!

He finished eating and tidied up after himself, much to Mrs Brown's approval. Keeping the cook happy was a lesson he'd learn early in life. No one wanted extra salt, or God knows what else, in their food. He’d heard about an exceptionally dreadful story of what had happened to a footman after he’d caused a particularly aggrieved cook to retaliate against said footman’s stupid pranks. Not very pleasant at all. He took his leave of her and went off to find the Mistress.

He followed the scrapes and creaks of heavy furniture being moved. There was a loud smash. Something made of china he thought. This was followed by a slew of ripe swearing. Swearing that a ‘Jolly Jack Tar’ would be immensely proud of! Someone wasn’t very happy. He paused as he neared and recognised the voice. Was that really the Mistress? Well, her late husband was in the army, he remembered. Still, it wasn’t very ladylike. He couldn't help but smirk to himself at the picture of all that filthy language coming from such a small, pristine, ladylike figure.

He stood in the doorway to the day room and coughed loudly, causing both Mrs Morgan and Daisy to jump and turn to look at him. He _almost_ smiled as Daisy juggled a vase she'd been holding, trying desperately not to drop it.

"You can go and get on with your usual duties now, Daisy. Mr Turton is here to help me now." Daisy placed the vase VERY CAREFULLY onto a table, curtsied at the missus, and scurried out of the room as fast as she could. He noted a myriad pile of small pieces of china on the floor. He recognised the patterning. The vase’s twin. _Ah! That explained the smash and the swearing from just earlier._

"How are your altered uniforms fitting?" she asked.

"Perfectly, thank you. Whoever did it, they obviously know their work. They did an exceptional job," he said.

"Oh...well...thank you, Mr Turton," she blushed, "I'm no expert tailor, but I do make my own and the children's clothing," she explained.

 _Oh!_ He looked up sharply. _She had done it herself? She made her own clothes? Stranger and stranger still..._

"Well," he said, "the sleeves are altered most skillfully, as I said..."

He moved to change the subject quickly.

"Um so...which items need moving, Ma'am?" he asked.

"Yes. Well...I'm not quite sure," she looked around uncertainly at the room, tapping her chin with a forefinger.

He let out a weary breath. "Is it a grand piano? And where would you prefer it to be going?"

"Oh. No, it's an upright piano. And I would maybe like it over there, near the window, so I can use the light to read the music sheets?" she said thoughtfully.

He looked at the corner she had pointed to before looking around at the rest of the room critically.

"You get the sun on the left side of the room first, so maybe the other window would be better, facing the other way? That way you'll get more afternoon and evening sun. Also, your back won’t be to the audience if they’re sitting here, Ma'am," he pointed to the main body of the room.

Mrs Morgan looked at where he'd suggested, then turned and beamed at him, clapping her hands joyfully.

"That sounds perfect. Thank you, Mr Turton! And it also means that we need to move much less furniture!"

 _Thank God!_ He thought.

They'd just finished moving everything, making a clear space under the chosen window, when they heard Daisy running up the stairs announcing that the piano men had arrived.

"I can deal with them, Ma'am," Turton said and waited for Mrs Morgan to nod an affirmative, which she did. "Daisy, would you please stay and help Mrs Morgan finish off here," Daisy nodded and Turton strode off, happy to be back in charge of something again.

-

Later, he was in the dining room, cleaning and polishing the silver. It was something he'd not done since he was a lower footman a good few years ago when he'd first moved to London from his native Yorkshire. It was a boring, but necessary, job. He didn’t really mind it, though. It meant he could sit quietly and think. He'd brought a tankard of beer and a sandwich up from the kitchen to keep him going. He wouldn't have been able to get away with that in a larger household. Here, he could, mostly, please himself. So maybe there were some merits to this strange place after all?

His new family was definitely strange, that was for certain. The Mistress held views that he'd never even heard of before. He knew where his place was in the social order, even if he silently railed against the injustice of being placed there just because of his birth. He had been told by her that he was free to borrow and read any of the books from the collection in the study-cum-library. Books were expensive! Why would she be happy with servants using them? And she was constantly asking for his opinion on subjects, ranging from the new Queen, Victoria, to slavery, to where to place a bloody piano. He grimaced to himself. All very strange indeed.

He paused in his work and wondered if it was some sort of a test. A trap maybe? To see if he was still the treasonous wretch that he was deemed to be in the eyes of others? He felt irked at his harsh judgement. He railed against what he considered to be the injustice of it all.

He'd known exactly what he was doing when he rifled through Mr Trenchard's desk. He knew that the consequences of being caught doing so would be a damn sight worse than if the pilfering he was engaged in with Mrs Babbage was exposed. He justified that enterprise as a “redistribution of wealth”. The Trenchard’s could spend an obscenely excessive amount in one single day on some stupid piece of jewelry that would only be worn once. Only for it to be discarded thoughtlessly on a dressing table the next day! The Trenchard’s would surely not miss the pitiful amount of money he'd earned from selling a few legs of mutton and bottles of port? But, to him, the money made there would make a huge difference to his future existence.

He'd seen the workhouses and the poor beggars that existed there. The thought of ending up there absolutely terrified him. It was what spurred him to continue along the path of treason. He certainly wasn't happy about it at the time; he knew that it could end badly for him. But the prospect of extra money and a safe future heavily outweighed any potential ramifications in his mind. His downfall had come about because he'd gravely underestimated the other servants involved – his trust was completely misplaced. Ellis had tried to throw the blame solely on him and Speer…the less said about that slippery eel, the better! He vowed to never place his trust in anyone so easily again.

As he continued with his cleaning, he paused. Soft piano playing was now drifting through the house. A sad and solemn tune. Curious, he downed the last of his beer, stood, and went to the door of the dining room. He found his feet moving of their own accord and ever closer to the day room where the piano was and where the music was floating from. He crept closer until he was at the door. It was open, so he could see who was playing. It was Mrs Morgan. _Who else would it be, you damn fool?_ he chastised himself.

She was angled away from him, so she couldn't see him. He backed away, intending to return to the dining room, being as quiet as he could so as not to disturb her. Unfortunately, the floor had other ideas. It creaked loudly as he stepped backwards, completely giving away his presence. The playing stopped and the Mistress looked over at him standing there. _Shit shit shit! Think quickly man!_

"Oh, I er... just wanted to let you know that the cobbler has sent the invoice for two pairs of shoes, if that's alright, Ma'am?" he asked quickly.

"Oh, thank you, Mr Turton," she turned her delighted face towards him. "It plays well doesn't it? The piano. Worth all that hassle I think," she said.

"Yes, Ma'am… the song, you were just playing, Ma'am?" he was pushing his luck, but his curious nature got the better of him.

"Oh, it's a popular one by Beethoven," she paused, "I'm not very good, so it’s no wonder you didn't recognise it," she looked down, her hands fidgeting.

"My previous household. They didn't own a piano. And I've never had the free time or money to visit the opera or anything like that. So I know nothing of music," he explained.

She peered up at him shyly.

"Oh, well. My parents made me take lessons from a very young age. My father believed that music should be enjoyed freely by all, not just the privileged few," she said. "I would help him with the free music concerts and operas he would organise," she was smiling wistfully now.

"I've always had one. A piano. Except here. But this house is too small for a grand. I've been itching to get a piano in here for a good few years now, so I could get back to playing. Mrs B showed me an advertisement for a maker of upright pianos nearby. I've had this one ordered, waiting to be made and delivered for the past six months!" she looked back at her piano and touched the keys gently, her face pleasantly content.

She turned to look back at him. "So, you're in a household with music now, Mr Turton. Do you think you should like that?" she tilted her head in query.

"It's not really for me to say, Ma'am," he still wasn't used to being asked his actual opinion on anything. He always made sure to keep his answer safe, nothing to come back and be used against him. "But I think I might enjoy it," he added truthfully.

She giggled. To his ears, it was better sound than the piano. He'd not heard much laughter at all while working for the Trenchard’s. Here though, it was forever freely floating around all the time, whether it was the Mistress, her children, or the other staff. Never himself, of course.

"I'd best get on, Ma'am. The silver won't polish itself after all." He needed to get back before he said something stupid.

"Oh. Yes," she looked rather downcast.

He felt strangely annoyed that he'd been the cause of her vanished delight.

"I'm in the dining room, across the way," he mentioned tentatively, "so I'll be able to hear. If you're going to play some more that is," he added.

She beamed at him. He gave himself a mental pat on the back.

"If you'll excuse me, Ma'am?" he waited.

"Oh, yes, right, of course. Thank you, Mr Turton," she said happily, watching him bow and leave. She flicked through the music sheets. _Ah! This one_ , she thought. She settled herself and started to play.

Turton, back in the dining room, smiled contentedly to himself. He wasn't thinking back this time as he cleaned. Instead, he was enjoying the music that traveled over from the day room. It swirled around him. He hmphed to himself as he remembered that the Mistress had said she wasn't any good. Hah! He wasn't a music expert by any long or short degree, but the music was really most beautiful – both this tune and the more melancholic one from earlier.

He smirked as he thought about how much the upper classes would pay to hear this. But here he was, a mere servant, listening to the grand music entirely for free!

**Author's Note:**

> Song one = Beethoven, 'A Adagio cantabile from Piano Sonata No. 8'
> 
> Song two = Nocturne in E flat major, Frédéric Chopin


End file.
